DrocellXOC -- Still Doll
by lurkingshadows123
Summary: Natalie McKennish has had a shitty life. Both her parents are dead, her grandmother hates her, and Natalie herself is exposed to crippling weaknesses - and hurt by plenty of them. But when she meets a mysterious doll maker who promises to make things better, she expects something completely different than what's in mind. Because dolls are incapable of love...right? Wrong.
1. Introduce That Fair Lady

**A/N:** Feel free to put yourself in my OC's shoes~ I know I did~ *blissful giggles* Anyway, I do plan on making this a bit dark...and maybe not as sensual as all my stories...no...that actually might change, tee hee, we'll just have to see! You'll have to keep reading to see where all this goes, really...

The character is a little rusty when you're first put into her shoes, but I promise to get more into her back-story and more into herself within the next chapter~ ^^"

Well...enjoy~ (I thought to myself, 'what a story is about to unravel'...)

* * *

It was a soggy evening in England; rain pranced down on the roofs of cottages and apartments, shops and mansions, seeming to never have an end, nor beginning. Thunder shaped the clouds, adding sound to the mix of foreboding gray shadows and black rain; with that came the sharp stabs of lightning, boldly lighting the sky alight. Within this dark and deep thunderstorm pranced a young girl around the age of 12. Her eyes were big and doleful, hair curled quite gracefully about her face despite the sogginess, and her hands bunched up around a damp lollipop. Her dress was quite soiled; mud covered the bottom edge, slowly seeming to creep up the fabric. Her new black boots were most definitely ruined as well.

Yet she didn't care.

Instead, with careful ease she avoided the clean spots of the walkway and instead stomped and danced in the puddles; for a 12 year old, this was improper. Wrong. Completely and totally childish. Which is why, if the circumstances had been different and the night had been day, you would have seen her carefully caressing her hair, gently twirling nervous fingers within her baby blue dress, and smiling at the handsome gentlemen that passed on by. However, this was night, and with no prying, gossiping, or accusing eyes to spoil her good-natured fun, she happily dove into it; all the while singing London Bridge.

It had been her father's favorite song when he had been alive. Now with him gone, she lived with her grandma and younger sister; her mother had left when she was about 3, her father when she was 10. The song helped soothe torn and hurt feelings, slowly repairing them, protecting and covering that one part of her that was still raw with emotion. At least, this is what she believed.

_"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…"_

She skipped over a crack in the sidewalk. It had been her father's favorite thing to do with her; jumping over cracks in the road.

_"London Bridge is falling down-"_

_ "My…fair…lady."_

She stopped, blinking. Someone had finished her song for her; that favorite part of hers that only she enjoyed singing. That part that brought back memories of her father whispering it in her ear and nuzzling her head. And besides, who was out so late in the pouring rain besides herself? She turned around, immediately gripping at her soggy brown hair, blinking those crystal green eyes rapidly at the figure standing behind her.

It was a tall man, wearing not only a top hat but a quite elaborate tailcoat. His hands were gloved and white, and as he looked her over, tilting his head in a jerky motion, she decided then and there that this man might not be someone too safe; especially when he was out and so carefully dressed up so late at night. Taking careful steps back, she continued to keep her gaze on him, only opening her mouth to shout out, "W-Who are you?" Her eyes continued to rake over him and his face, sucking in the appearance of ginger hair and bright amethyst orbs.

He was quiet for a minute, before tilting his head back up and walking a bit closer to her, mouth slowly opening while he extended his hand, immediately taking her's as soon as he was within reaching distance. "I thought to myself, 'How strange that she would want to know my name…'" He gently shook her hand, slowly and jerkily bending down to kiss her pale skin, eliciting an intake of breath from her. Looking up from under his eyebrows, he said with a colorless tone of voice, "It is quite late. Shouldn't you be home?"

At these words, she tore from his grasp, hardly paying attention to the pressure existing on her middle finger. With her one and only thought to escape back home – the exact same place she had been going to in the first place – she hardly exhaled her breath in his direction, only finding solace in spinning around and darting back the way she had been going, slipping and staggering on the wet road, breathing heavily and intent on getting home before this man could do anything to her.

All the while, the stranger looked on after her, a smile slowly gracing his features as he watched her desperate attempt to flee. Slowly turning around and walking back the way he had came, he couldn't help but chuckle lightly, gently adjusting his hat so it hid his eyes. He did not need to see where he was going; he had it memorized in the make-up of his genes, in the DNA that kept him going.

For Drocell Cainz would surely never get lost when returning to his doll shop.

~.~

"Where were you?!"

"I'm sorry, Grandmother, I was walking home, I swear-"

"It took you about 15 minutes, Natalie!" The little gray-haired woman puttered about the room, harshly slamming a cold dinner in front of the little brunette; her wet dress had been exchanged for a long pink nightgown, her hair out of its previous bun and now cascading down her long back. While she picked up a fork and gently poked at her food, she tried as hard as ever to block out her grandmother's scathing words, barely succeeding. Until…

"…unbelievably hard to believe that you're Nathaniel's child, you're lucky you didn't meet the Child Snatcher, if he had found you I can't say I'd be sorry, maybe you'd actually learn a lesson for once, sneaking out at night to get a gift for your sister…"

"The Child Snatcher?" The question was out before she could stop herself; immediately she dropped her fork and covered her mouth with a hand. Her grandmother simply glared at her, shaking out a washcloth angrily while replying, "A man who walks the roads in search of little girls. Supposedly he tries to find the ones with a blue ring on, but...say, what is that on your hand, girl?" The elder's attention was piqued towards the glistening blue jewelry sitting atop Natalie's middle finger, shining quite beautifully for all to see.

Natalie, on the other hand, was not fazed by the grandmother's anxious question; she merely recoiled her hand from the table, placing it delicately in her lap as she replied, "Just my sister's gift." When the obvious disbelief filled her grandmother's eyes, she added, "I'm wearing it to make sure it's not too big for her."

"Of course it's too big for her if your chubby fingers fit in it! I thought you bought a lollipop for your sister…" came the suspicious snapping comeback.

Natalie gulped; the blue ring was so pretty, much too gorgeous for a commoner such as herself. Seeing as they lived in the apartments surrounding the shops, her grandmother didn't make enough money to afford such flattering trinkets; such a gift from wherever didn't deserve to be taken away, which it most surely would. And, if Natalie knew her greedy selfish grandmother just right, she'd say that her grandma would take it and keep it for herself. And Natalie refused to let that happen tonight.

"I just picked it up off the streets," she lied, grabbing her fork with the hand not taken captive by the beautiful ring and biting into her dinner. Even she could barely believe the lie itself; there were just too many holes in it. Yet her grandmother seemed to take it; snatching the rest of the dinner away from Natalie, she shooed her up to bed.

It only took a few minutes for the tired, hungry little brunette to toddle upstairs, where she slid off that ring and placed it on her nightstand; moonlight bounced off of it just right, illuminating the sapphire color in such a way that lit up Natalie's eyes. She felt no curiosity to where it had come from; despite the fact that it had only shown up this night, after that stranger.

Yet Natalie didn't care; the stone was too pretty, too full of hope for her to care at this point. Slowly slipping into her bed and throwing the covers around her shoulders, she sighed, still watching the moonlight jump off the edges of the ring, delivering a blue glow to her emerald eyes.

For in her head, she had convinced herself that she deserved such pretty treasures as well.

~.~

Five years passed. Five grueling years of slaving about the house for Natalie, while pampered attention for her now 14 little sister. For her grandmother, it was a routine of picking on the eldest daughter she disliked, and showering the brattiest one with gifts. And for the stranger on that night…

His fingers gently caressed the porcelain cheek, sliding his finger along the fake cheekbones to the cherry lips. Here he stopped, his eyes gazing across every feature. It was perfect; simply perfect. Looked exactly like her, hair, eyes, and all; even the dress that she had been wearing that night – it was all an eerie replica. For that, he was most pleased. Picking up the new doll, he quietly moved up the stairs from his little workshop, creaking himself, which made him think out loud, "And I think to myself, 'why do I creak as if _I _am made of wood?'" When he finally reached the lobby of the shop, he carefully made his way towards the newest display case he had set up, gently setting the newest doll in the case, where it displayed itself with eager pride; he knew that the doll would only catch the eye of the one person he wanted to buy it – and that would take patience. Patience that existed in his genes, his DNA.

For in _his_ head, he was quite sure that Natalie McKennish would be quite a lovely doll herself; when she came. And he knew, without a doubt, that she would come.

~.~

"Get your sister a gift, she said. It'll be fun, she said." Clomping down the damp road, running tired fingers through my caramel-brown hair while glowering down at all little children with my moss-green eyes, I quickly made my way through the busy shops, hardly stopping to look at any of the cute trinkets on display in all those fancy expensive jewelry shops. My goal revolved around one and only one thing: getting my sister a birthday gift that she'd, '…never forget, Natalie!' Sighing, I managed to slow down my pace a bit; now that I was out of the bustling and crowded road I could take more time to investigate the various shops around me – from vintage styles to the latest ball-gowns and dresses to little dolls and gorgeous mahogany furniture. Almost everything you could think of existed here in Victorian England; including me, myself, and pitiful I, Natalie McKennish. Well, perhaps I wasn't all that pitiful…

At the time, I was 17; 17 and living with a bratty 14 year old and a grandmother who practically hated my guts. To say life was a little hard was an understatement for me, but it didn't really matter; as long as I obeyed and slaved about the house like a good 'daughter', then things went pretty adequate.

Fiddling with the ring on my finger, I quickly glanced around, bringing out a piece of paper I had clutched in my hand; all the while taking careful note of the near perfect condition of the 5 year old treasure about my finger. I could hardly remember the night that it had appeared on my finger, gracing me with its presence, never once leaving my sight; or hand, for that matter. Gently moving it around, I rubbed it lovingly and moved to read the address written in my grandmother's scrawled handwriting.

There, she had said, lied the absolutely perfect gift for my sister. In some little girl's dress shop. But, supposedly it wasn't a little girl's dress shop; oh no, to my grandmother, it appeared to be some young woman's shop. Funny, because she had only started thinking of _me_ as a young woman around the time I had turned 16.

"Let's just get this over with," I whispered to myself, taking a sharp turn into Madame Lincettia's Beauty and Glamour Apparel. Sucking in a huge breath before being bombarded with short stout woman waddling around behind stuck-up 10 year olds shouting orders and throwing around dresses they thought unsuitable – and of course, the much-too-friendly owner of the shop who practically skipped up to me, before noting how old I looked; then she stopped, regained her composure, and merely walked away from me, nose in the air while she glanced back and made noisy scoffing and tsking noises. Apparently I wasn't young enough for her exotic taste.

Sliding through the arrays of dresses hanging from the walls and situated on metal, I tried closing off my hearing when it came to the comments surrounding me; bunches of unpleasant mutterings about how horrible my taste was if I was still shopping in here. And, to tell the truth, it kind of stung. Swallowing carefully, I continued to look for that stupid dress for my little sister, still tending to my wounded dignity. No, I didn't dress very fashionably, nor find all the perfect little stylish do-dads to add the perfect charm to my outfit, but I didn't dress like farm life either. The fact that people in this shop would dare scoff at my somewhat fashionable attire not only hurt but angered me; because, what did they know?

Besides, I wasn't in here for me.

"Find what you are looking for, madame?"

I jumped, nearly knocking over Madame Lincettia herself; still not over the fact that such an old young woman as myself was shopping in her store, she glared at me, still looking down her nose while murmuring, "Find anything…interesting?"

By now, I was fuming inside. There was no point shopping in such a store if I was only going to be judged – besides, I'd find something else to repay my sister. I'd make up some lie about why I hadn't been able to get the dress for the Princess of the House. "Actually, all of your styles are tacky."

Her gaping look was completely worth it.

"Your dresses are completely reliant on last year's styles; completely and irreversibly _tacky._ My sister could never wear these – absolutely ridiculous!" And with those scathing words, I spun around and immediately began strutting from the shop, ignoring the stares and snorts from the other little aristocrats. My eyes burned at the snickers and malicious laughter that surrounded me, almost tempting me to spin around and shout some discipline at these girly overlords. But it wasn't until I ran into the couple at the front of the shop that I stopped my tirade out the door.

A blonde beauty stared down at me, slowly bringing in her parasol while looking me over. She appeared 16, with that cute curl of the nose and the perfect enunciation of her brows. A mocking grin curled about her mouth, and as a very well practiced American accent exited her mouth – "My, aren't you a little _old_." – I felt my face finally turn a ripe shade of cherry.

I pushed past her and the accompanying boy behind her; a boy who laughed along with his mistress. A mistress who laughed along with the snots in the store; snots who laughed along with the madame _running_ the store. The laughter hurt, and actually brought silent tears to my eyes.

A lot had happened over the years. Things that had made me strong, things that had made me weak. Laughter was a weakness; being mocked hurt. And hurt like none other. In fact, it hurt like a weakness to the heart. So as I walked down the sidewalk, away from the following laughter, away from the fashion and children and people and everything surrounding me, so focused on repairing my already damaged emotions…it was then that I noticed the array of alleys I had entered.

Dark walls that surrounded me everywhere.

Shadows that moved and flitted about, moving around corners, watching me. Taking careful note of my age, my appearance, especially my chest.

_Especially_ my chest.

Folding arms in front of me, I continued walking, lowering my head now, dropping that little piece of paper, bringing my fingers about to rub the ring on my finger. The shadows…they almost felt like they were closing in, following, prepared to attack and-

"_Lost and quiet she moves along, moves along, moves along…_"

That song… I knew that song.

"_Lost and quiet, she moves along…that fair lady._"

A music box…I could hear a music box.

"_Does she look away from home, 'way from home, 'way from home?_"

My feet were moving. The shadows behind me were retreating, shrinking back, away from that music. That heavenly music…that music that chased away all my fear, all my weaknesses, all my strengths…who cared about the little store with the petty little brats…who cared at all when such beautiful music played…?

"_And won't she come to this ole' shop…_"

The alleys gave way to a paved cobblestone road and gloomy gray skies. Old abandoned shacks seemed to glow from the light leaving the shop, that shop that practically squirmed and shouted to the world how alive it was; that shop that sat right in front of me.

And the _light!_ So warm and inviting…

That warm emanating invitation included the man standing in front of it. A man with familiar ginger hair and familiar lavender-eyes. A man with a familiar top hat and a familiar tailcoat. A man who bowed to me in such a familiar way, that a sharp intake of breath absently filled me. In fact, the only thing not familiar was the music box he continued to play and move…yet, that didn't matter. None of it did. Only those eyes that captivated mine in such a perfect way it made my insides flutter. Only that smile that graced his features so naturally as if it had been sculpted there.

The man extended his hand and tipped his head, moving his hand up to lift his hat in such a gentlemanly act that I couldn't help but blush and look away. He smiled again. Repeated that line he'd sung earlier: "_And won't she come to this ole' shop…_" This time he stepped aside, stopped playing the music box, extended his hand towards the shop, murmuring with that perfect voice of his and that perfect smile:

"_My…fair…lady…_"


	2. Beginning Puzzle Piece

"Who are you?"

The man only smiled at me, remaining in his bowed position, his hand still extended towards the shop. Yes, I was tempted to enter the store. I was even tempted to walk up to him and slip my hand into his own, to let him lead me to where he so desired me to go.

However… "Please…your name?"

Finally deducing that I wasn't prepared to budge without his name, he slowly arose, keeping his hat in his hand as he stepped forward, the music box gently pushing up against my chest as he leaned down close to my ear, whispering languidly, "My lady, you may call me Drocell."

"D-Drocell…" The name and the way it rolled off my tongue…it was all an exquisite feeling, something I enjoyed. "Drocell," I repeated, looking up at the man who had taken a few steps back. His hat gently kissed his forehead again, that lazy ginger hair of his curling around his face and framing those magical purple eyes. So magical in fact, that I couldn't help but stare into them a bit, finding myself reveling in the way they seemed to shine and sparkle like marbles.

He shifted, turning away, his smile fading as he extended his hand; this time he didn't point towards the door; no, his fingers flickered towards a doll.

A doll in the display case.

A doll showing off a dress that seemed to be touched with the color of cornflowers; flaunting a tightly coiled bun that glimmered all shades of brown, from chocolate to a lightly salted caramel; hiding a secret with that serpent's grin attached to her perfect porcelain skin. And I couldn't help but feel so drawn to something so intimate and familiar, something so beautiful when compared to those tacky – yes, _very_ tacky – dresses I had been browsing through earlier. Stray pebbles danced as I shuffled forward, past the familiar stranger to stand just shy of the glass, my hands gently caressing the window as I stared at the precious doll.

"It…"

This would be a perfect gift for my sister. Another doll to add to her collection of slowly-consuming-space treasures; and what better way, then to give her a doll that…

"…looks like me…" Anxiety found its way within my heart, eating away at my core, eating away at my previous security. This man, this shopkeeper, this 'Drocell'… "W-Why does it look like me?"

The man tilted his head, such a jerky movement in comparison to another man; his hand barely cranked the music box, the box barely let out a croaking note, the note barely hit my ears, something easily missed if you didn't listen for it. However, my attention was very much focused on him, and the sound I heard sounded like something akin to death.

The strangled sound of something unwillingly dying.

The quick serenade of an innocent turned guilty.

My skin prickled at the idea. "Please…sir, won't you answer my question?" Maybe there was no need for niceties at this point; to think, this shopkeeper who had seemed so magical a few minutes ago now set my pulse racing in all the wrong ways. Did such an enigma deserve mannerisms?

"I thought to myself, 'why would it matter if it looked like you…?'" He cranked out another note, this time turning to the door of the shop, walking right past me to grip the bronze doorknob. Slowly, he looked over in my direction; only a few inches away from face. Cheeks flushed as he said, "Now, fair lady, won't you come see the other fine dolls occupying this store?" And with that, he opened the door and stepped within the building, hardly glancing over his shoulder as he walked across the wooden territory; his fingers gripped the music box as he lifted it up and over his shoulders, dropping it on a metal hook close to another hallway.

When my father had been alive, he used to scold me for my curiosity. Too many times I had either burned, cut, scared, or surprised myself with what I had found; how could he have blamed me though? I had only been a few years of age, hardly anything to be worried about right? Perhaps the worry had settled in with him when he discovered how insatiable my appetite to discover things was; especially when I had grown older. I was quite sure that my father now frowned down at me, from wherever he was, when I turned to grip the doorknob, famous curiosity bubbling and spilling over my subconscious.

How could I be sure, though, that it was me? How could I be exactly, truthfully, and completely sure that it was my young 12-year old self that he had modeled that porcelain doll after? In fact, it made sense that it wasn't me. It made sense that he would use someone else, probably a much prettier, much more _beautiful_ frivolous lady of society, a lady of class and propriety with enough sass it wooed men left and right. Which made so much sense, that my earlier fear was replaced by all that previous security; security that wafted from such a graceful-looking man, with such poise and beauty he could be a doll himself!

I twisted the knob, the tingling of the bell alerting the ginger-haired man. Looking up at me, he smiled, beckoning me closer with those white gloved fingers of his, almost as if he were whispering a secret when he said, "Now come, fair lady, to admire the dolls of my collection."

I stopped; something about that 'fair lady' thing he kept calling me…it reminded me of something. "Sing that song you sang earlier."

He blinked. "What song?"

"The song. The _London Bridge _one."

He blinked again, then turned back around, his hands stretching out to pet those precious figurines of his. The door shut behind me as I walked forward, hands twisting into my dress as he began to hum; and it was such a perfect set of notes, such perfect quality and beauty, that I sighed; watched as he stroked fingers down the cheeks of the girls; smiled as he ruffled the hair and fixed the dresses; blinked and hid a blush when he turned around and sang softly, "_Come to buy a doll from me, doll from me, doll from me! Come to buy a doll from me, this fair lady~_"

"I-It's not for me, it's for-"

"Your sister."

I blinked rapidly. Had I mentioned that before? …Perhaps I had, I must have forgotten. "Yes…my sister."

"I know," he replied shortly, curtly, without hesitation. He was obviously waiting, expecting, preparing himself for something. Steeling his nerves with odd ambition as he slowly sauntered across the floor, hardly paying me a glance as he moved to grab small finger puppets lying on a side table against the wall. Picking them up, he displayed them to me, smiling quite fondly – like a father overlooking his sons – as he murmured, "Don't you think she'd like something a little more entertaining?"

I turned back to the look at the dolls; so life-like and detailed, it almost gave me chills, like they were really and truly watching me. If it hadn't been for the fact that I felt more at home here than I'd ever felt before, I would've hightailed it outta there, back to that prissy shop with those prissy customers and that prissy old lady who only came up to my hip and-

"Or are you sure that this sister of yours could truly appreciate the workmanship put into such a rare piece of art?" His eyes practically burned holes into my own, something I was ashamed to admit that I liked. He slipped his fingers into two of the puppets, moving his hand forward to touch my cheek with the heads of the toys; I tried to stifle back a giggle – the feel of the two animals' heads upon my skin tickled – and avoid that shining gaze of his, the one that grew more and more intense by the minute. I could now feel his eyes raking over my hair, my skin, my cheeks, my eyes, and, Heaven forbid, my lips…

Probably waiting for an answer. "No, I can assure you, she will _not_ appreciate such workmanship. She's a spoiled brat with nothing but men and dresses on her mind," I pointed back at the doll in the window, the one that looked an awful lot like me, "but I'm positive that she would be unbelievably pleased to have that one added to her collection."

Drocell blinked. Blinked and leaned back, taking back into his care those wonderful feeling puppets that left my skin shivering; he slipped them from his hand and turned back around, returning to that side table, placing the toys back onto the wood. Saying forlornly, "At least you're honest."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he wasn't done. "And yet I think to myself… 'Why are you so intent on having that doll? Why not something else within the shop?'"

He looked over his shoulder. "Are you, perhaps, _drawn_ to it?"

The ring resting along my middle finger began to itch and burn, pulsing softly with an all-encompassing glow.

I looked at him; truly looked at him, even tried looking at him as the man he was trying to appear. I still felt secure, safe and protected, yet something had crept in. Something sinister, like an unwelcome shadow that had snuck under the door; something just under my reach, something I couldn't grasp, couldn't understand. Yet I desired to; as long as Drocell knew, I felt myself wanting to know as well. "I'm drawn to many things, sir."

He smiled, stepping forward, taking another step forward, then another, and another, his smile growing bigger, those amethyst orbs growing softer and more desirable, ambition burning a violet flame as he gently slicked out, "I believe, fair lady, that I know the perfect gift for your sister."

Eyelids blinked rapidly as he grabbed a piece of my hair, gently admiring it and stroking the end. Words tumbled out: "And what would that be?"

The smile stayed. The ambition stayed.

That shadow stayed. "A doll, fair lady~"

"_What_ is _this_?"

Scoffing, I smacked Gabrielle McKennish upside the head, not at all surprised at how she turned up her nose; my breath cut short however, when I leaned down next to her, blinking, staring, unable to comprehend as she continued to complain, "Where'd you get a doll that looks like _me_?!"

"I…I don't know," were the only words that left my dry mouth. Every detail on the doll fit perfectly with the girl I kneeled next to; those malicious and pointed brown eyes, those mahogany colored locks that spilled across her cheeks and down her back, the freckles that dotted her nose, even the little scar beneath her eye from, well, who knows. The doll was even wearing Gabrielle's favorite dress – a purple lace ball-gown.

"Gabrielle…"

She didn't even turn to look at me, her fingers reaching for the little ring hanging by a silver chain around the doll's neck.

"H-Have you entered a doll shop lately?"

Her fingers wound about the chain, trying, struggling, desperate to free the jewelry that, oddly enough, looked identical to my own.

"Doll shop? There aren't any doll shops here, Natalie, don't be stupid," she snapped, finally giving up and, instead of a dainty lady-like approach, decided to instead let all loose and rip the chain from around the doll's neck; the ring plinked off and landed on the ground, where it lay there, her long dainty fingers stretching forth to grab it and admire it.

"Yes there is, the one on the street, behind all those alleys-"

"Oh, you mean _that_ one?" Her attention had now wavered, only focusing on the ring she was struggling with; pushing it harder and harder onto her middle finger, desperate to prove how she could easily flaunt her ring much better than I ever could with my own.

My hopes soared; maybe this wasn't all some weird coincidence.

"Unlike you, I don't mess around abandoned buildings. Goodness, look at these rings, they're so identical…though _mine_ has a better color when compared to yours."

I ignored the way she dropped the doll, the way she kicked it across her room, far away from her collection. No, her eyes were still all so focused on that ring of hers. I didn't care though; nothing mattered now. "_Abandoned_? You must be joking, there is no abandoned doll shop-"

"Are you an idiot?" she interrupted, glaring down at me, then scoffing herself, tossing her head back, and rolling her eyes; my heart twisted angrily and I had to swallow the urge to take her bait. "There's only one doll shop here in the city, Natalie. And, despite what _you_ see, it's abandoned." She rolled her eyes once more, walking away from me, back to the doll. Picking it up as she stroked the cheek. Saying more than a little arrogantly, "Besides, this doll couldn't have come from any nice expensive shop; just look at the way the eyes are, the way they just keep staring, always watching. They don't even look like they have any life in them! And the paint looks like it's about to chip! …It's so tacky, I'm almost debating whether or not to throw it out for the poor," she added vehemently, completely forgetting the fact that we ranked not far from those poor people.  
My middle finger burned with passion and fire, itching ridiculously as the ring pulsated against my skin. My tongue went dry as I managed to hiss out, "It's not tacky. That dress you wanted was _tacky_."

She gaped, forgetting the doll once more. "It was not! It was undeniably in-style, and you're just jealous because Grandmother doesn't get you anything nice!" She smirked, folding her arms, leaning forward, and whispering silkily, "Because, well, you know…she hates you."

It was like a familiar shaft thrown into my heart; yes, I knew that the sweet talk-to-me-Natalie-and-I'll-bite-your-head-off grandmother/guardian of mine didn't necessarily like me – it seemed to be escalating over the years as well, I noticed – but did that mean it was hate? I swallowed, opening my mouth, prepared to say something, prepared to mouth off to her as well; nothing came out.

"What's_ wrong_ with you?" she murmured, tapping her chin. "You'd usually say something by now…sick, maybe? Too bad~" She cackled, walking past me, her dress just barely touching my cheek as she sashayed out of the room, trilling for Grandmother. Her feet could be heard even as I continued to sit in the middle of her room; those pounding steps as she ran downstairs, probably gifted with her favorite breakfast and dessert. Loud laughter echoed from the stairs, and lots of piercing malicious words obviously directed my way could be heard, proving my own words to be true.

I sighed, crawling over to the doll lying haphazardly on the ground, almost as if its neck were broken. Touching the face, resurfacing that earlier curiosity; when had Drocell seen Gabrielle? Wouldn't he have told me? I furrowed my brow, bringing it up to my face, stroking the cheek; I could almost see the paint strokes where he had added color to the cheeks, the grace he had used to accentuate the eyes, the poise he had proclaimed to the world as he had attached the dress to such an intriguing toy. Maybe he had told me he'd seen her; or maybe I had described her to him last night.

Yes. Last night.

My heart fluttered, beating like a panicked bird as I traced fingers down the doll's cheeks, almost in the exact way he had touched me – my cheek – with his fingers; well, his puppets really, but it was close enough, wasn't it? I could remember how hot and intense his gaze had been, looking me over, sucking in every detail; the way he had caressed my hair, running his fingers through the ends…

I sighed, shaking my head. Last night, when I had asked him to fashion a doll after my sister, I _must_ have described to him what she had looked like. It only made sense; he wouldn't have finished the toy before morning, placed it upon my doorstep with a note – "The doll for the fair lady's precious sister" – without me having described to him how she appeared. It couldn't have been finished so quickly without those important details right? And what about the shop being abandoned?! It was complete nonsense, obviously thought up by my sister.

That was it.

She _had_ visited it. Of that I was certain. It must have been why Drocell had been able to cook up a doll so alike to her! And the whole abandoned factor…it was easy to see that she was desperate to keep that magical shop and the even more magical and mysteriously handsome shopkeeper to her, herself, and she.

The fact that she would act like this, so maliciously angry and hating of my gift just showed how much she enjoyed hurting me; how much she enjoyed keeping everything to herself, breaking feelings like a snapping twig while she smiled and murmured a bittersweet apology.

My sister was, indefinitely, cunning and unbelievably selfish; to an extent I was just beginning to discover.

"Natalie's going mad," Gabrielle murmured later that morning, donning her white silk gloves as she sipped her tea, smiling viciously at me as Grandmother turned to look in my direction; her expression was that of no concern, almost as if she had expected this to happen eventually.

"Is that so?" Grandmother murmured, boredom clouding her eyes and face. She turned back to fawn over Gabrielle again in less than a second's time, saying with vigor, "What about you? Have you enjoyed your birthday so far? Did you like the dress your sister got you?"

Gabrielle scoffed, forgetting why she was bringing up the whole insane-comment; making my finger itch and burn again when she said, "No, I didn't! She didn't even get me the dress, or _any_ dress! Only this creepy _tacky_," she pointedly glanced at me here, "doll that looks like me." Before Grandmother could shout at me – she had turned to glare at me, her mouth open, her teacup in its saucer – Gabrielle added, "And she keeps insisting that she got this doll from that weird doll shop behind all those alleys!"

This caught Grandmother's attention. She turned back to Gabrielle, ignoring my existence once more; something that made it unbearably hard for me to swallow my tea. Choking it down, I hissed, "It's not just a doll shop! It's run by one of the most talented toymakers I've ever seen!"

Gabrielle glared at me, narrowing her brown eyes. "Better than the Phantomhives'?"

My mouth closed, eyes wandering away from the two members of my family so bent on making my life hell; sadly, they were succeeding one-hundred percent.

Grandmother pitched in her two-cent here. "The abandoned one?"

Gabrielle nodded furiously, pointing at me and repeating the words that had begun this entire conversation: "Natalie's going mad."

"Ok!" I slammed my cup of tea back into the saucer, completely fed up with the fact that 1) they all completely ignored me and refused to get my side of the story and 2) they kept referring to Drocell's perfectly working and running doll shop as abandoned. "The shop is not abandoned!"

They both glared at me; I already knew they had decided I was crazy. I didn't care; not now, not when I was prepared for an argument. "I_ sat_ there for about an hour talking and discussing with a man what kind of doll I should get Gabrielle!"

They merely stared some more.

"Don't you understand? Drocell's shop exists!" I shouted, standing up, moving past my position at the table to stand at the head. I slammed my fist down on the wood, glancing between both of them, determined for one of them to argue, to strike something, to throw a match onto the patch of grass I had gifted them. I was ready to burn angrily, ready to blow off all my hate and frustration and-

"So, Gabrielle…I was debating whether or not to take you up to London tomorrow to have tea with…"

My mouth dropped as Grandmother's and Gabrielle's voices faded into nothing.

They were ignoring.

Ignoring…_me._ Again. To them, I was nothing more but an embarrassing outburst.

"Fine then." I left.

Promptly left the room, ignoring the way they muttered after me, words that stuck in my heart like an arrow, painfully digging their way deeper into my core. Grabbing my coat and flinging it around my shoulders, hardly paying them attention when Gabrielle's malicious laughter rang through the house like a bell, or when Grandmother's scoffing words echoed with her own laughter.

I only opened the door, marched from the clusters of small, shabby apartments, hoping to find myself back there again. Back to the one place, the only place, that I had felt special. The one place where my heart had beat wildly, crazily, insanely fast, instead of painfully slow, as if it tried to hide its own existence beneath my skin.

Thoughts drifted from the doll, that night, my sister, Grandmother, tears, sobs, wet…wet tears that dripped from my cheek and rolled onto the street, barely making a dent in the appearance of the broken and dusty cobblestones. I lifted my head, gently combing through my hair, the wavy mess of caramel hair that fell gracefully along my neck and down my back. Hoping to appear pretty, worth time, beautiful even as I shifted that ring on my finger, licked my lips, wiped the silent tears from my cheeks.

My eyes found the shops dotting the streets ahead; my heart beat wildly again as my gaze stretched farther, to where the parks and stone-gray lakes existed, to where opportunity and a new life promised hope and prosperity. But none of that mattered now; not yet. Maybe someday, sometime, I'd find myself out of my Grandmother's house, away from that prison, safely tucked away with another man, holding and caring for my own baby…

My throat went dry as I began walking downhill towards those shops, the alleys already in view, even if they were miles away. Feet quickened their pace, breath came faster, more excited, as I tried mustering a smile. The doll left in my sister's room was forgotten; the ring that graced her own finger forgotten; the Grandmother that loathed my existence forgotten; everything was shoved to the back of my mind, to where all my other non-important worries lay, as my mind imagined and thought up the one and only man I wanted to see.

* * *

**Yeah...this one was written kind of quickly, I do apologize. I wanted to finish it before school starts~ If there are any grammatical errors or spelling problems...please do tell me~ :D Also, reviews are favorited~ **

**Anyone reading my Dramione story needs be told that the first chapter will be coming soon. It's being worked on as you read. :)**


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